


Untitled

by RurouniHime



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Arthur Knows, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magic Revealed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has things that need saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older ficlet, first posted in 2009, so it doesn't take into account the end of the series (which I still haven't seen... Merlin BBC and I, we have a bit of a complicated relationship, but I will get around to it eventually). Slash if you squint, pre-slash if you just look at it with regular eyes. ^_^ Just a snapshot I imagined happening, the way things were going in the show.

Arthur can't move his hand from Merlin's forehead. He just can't find it in himself to do it.

"Bloody... bloody idiot." The last word chokes and Arthur shuts his eyes, pulls himself up straight in the chair, and swallows it down. Merlin's forehead is hot and damp, sickly heat.

Arthur rubs his face with his free hand and then gives up and sits, eyes covered.

_Idiot._

This time the word is for himself. But truly, all the words have been, from the moment Merlin fell.

Arthur jerks up against the conclusion of that thought, shoves it away just as he shoves his hands into Merlin's hair, clutching the sides of his head and trembling, god, he can't control his muscles anymore. He can't... "Merlin. _Merlin_. You arse, open your eyes."

Merlin's breathing is a jerky thread of sound and hitched movement. As shallow as the reedy whistling on the other side of the window. The wind thuds into the glass like swinging fists, a giant trapped in the storm, beating its way free.

Merlin's body is bruised, ribs cracked. Arthur knows; he carried him away from the stones that had snapped Merlin's consciousness like a brittle stick. There are things giving way that shouldn't under the swollen skin at Merlin's sides. The bandages are stark and white, and too harsh on Arthur's eyes, except for where they are stained. Dried blood just at the corner of Merlin's mouth. Arthur looks away.

Anywhere else but at what he's done.

"Thought it would be better if I didn't say," he pleads, and then gets angry and smacks his fist into the arm of his chair until the side of his hand is in agony. He should never have kept quiet, but it seemed like the best course of action, because Merlin... Merlin could never keep a secret for long, and Arthur already knew, and what was the harm?

Clearly, there is a great deal of harm, and it could have been avoided. Damn it all, if he'd just—

"Don't," Arthur snarls, taking Merlin's face in hands too gentle for what's trying to rip its way out of him, "don't you make this my last act with you! _Merlin_."

He should have said. Should have... said it. Acknowledged that he knew, that Merlin didn't need to hide the magic from him, not when life was the exchange being demanded. But Merlin hid his secret better than he should have been able to, and stepped in front of Arthur in a horrifyingly mortal way instead of just _acting_ , using his true strength, and now—

"God—" What has he to pray for? This is his doing, his stubbornness. His pride. Always, always he must make Merlin come to him. Even when he has feet of his own to carry him forward, he waits for the answers to drag themselves into the light. As if it is his royal right to be officially informed.

He could have said. _Merlin, I know._ And this, all of this, would not have happened. Merlin would not be broken, he would be knowing and embarrassed, he would be harassing Arthur. He would not have been flung into a wall like a bundle of straw. He would have dispatched the serpent with nothing but light and wind, and dared Arthur to do better.

Arthur cannot do better than Merlin. He knows that, as well as he knows the feverish face he holds in his hands. As well as he knows how to loathe his own pride. There was no need to hide, and yet Arthur made it necessary.

"Merlin," he whispers. Merlin's eyes flutter and Arthur can see the whites briefly before they close. He grips Merlin's hand, a hand capable of so, so much. "I know. I know now."

_I need you._

"Please."

~fin~


End file.
